


The Hereafter

by Laurel_Lilium



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Canon - TV, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurel_Lilium/pseuds/Laurel_Lilium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Lannister is banished to stewardship on the Wall.</p><p>AU timeline of sorts.  Jumps ahead in the timeline and assumes some things that might happen in season four.  If there are book spoilers in this story, I did not knowingly include them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

“ _We could establish a dynasty that will last a thousand years...or we could collapse into nothing.”_

_ \- Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands _

 

 

 

_I am running. Running through snow and my limbs are feel so heavy and the snow is so deep that every few strides I fall, my face smashing into the hard, icy crust. The snow blows fiercely all around and pelts like thousands of tiny daggers into my face and eyes...my feet are numb and I wonder if i'll lose my nose to frostbite, but I know it is crucial that I press on. In the distance there is a fence and a house that seems so, so tiny. A woman cloaked in wool head to toe stands in the yard, unaware of my presence.  I wave my arms and take another step. I've sunk further into the snow so that it is level with my waist. Trying with all my might, I am unable to move any further. I cry out toward the woman. _

 

“Brienne!”

 

Jaime Lannister sat straight up in his bed, a single plank of wood with a lumpy mattress stuffed with rags. The fire in his quarters had long burnt out in the night and his extremities were every bit as numb as they had been in his dream. He still dreamed of her nearly every night, most of them nightmares, occasionally being granted with a pleasant one which would recall the first and last night they lay together. He couldn't decide which type of dream was worse, but prayed neither form ever left him. Eventually he had stopped thinking about his mother after her death. He was determined not to have the same thing happen with regard to his beloved Brienne. It had only been five years so far, however.

 

_Five years? Or was it six already?_

 

The clanging of swords in the yard woke his reverie. Rising from his bed, he went to the window to observe how many boys were already down there. A few more recruits had arrived at Castle Black the day before and Jon Snow charged Jaime with assessing and developing their fighting abilities. Apparently the dream had made him miss the first meal and late for training.

 

Jaime scratched at his beard and combed his hand through the knots in his hair. Then, throwing on his many layers of cotton and leather and practice armor, wondered if he'd need so much extraneous clothing today. The sun had actually made an appearance during the previous day for a few strange, brief hours, raising the temperature outside so much that some of the men ran through the yard with bare chests, soaking up the rays. The talk at dinner that night had been focused only on this anomaly, theories ranging from winter's end to a minatory omen from the gods. One of the new recruits said to Jaime, “This place isn't so gloomy as everyone tells.”

 

“Wait until the morrow, and the one after next. It will change,” Jaime advised him. “This is merely extraordinary.”

 

“Perhaps the sun shone especially for my arrival,” had been the short boy's proud response and Jaime chuckled a little in appreciation of his bravado.

 

 

 

In the yard Jaime noticed a group of experienced boys gathered round that same boy from dinner. As far as Jaime could assess, they were merely comparing cock sizes and pissing on one another rather than getting down to the business of any sort of skill building.

 

Apparently this new recruit felt he could take any one of them immediately.

 

Normally Jaime would keep his distance from these situations, stepping in only to correct form, or when, such as instances like this, the chest-beating got out of hand. Many of the stewards seemed to derive pleasure from shouting at the top of their lungs at the soldiers, and particularly at the new pledges. Jaime had neither the energy or inclination to do the same. As a result, the boys had learned that when Jaime Lannister did approach them, he was earnest, and for that reason they feared him.

 

Many of them knew next to nothing of the _Kingslayer_. And if they did, they didn't dare to say it in his presence. However, it did not seem as though they were afraid of his wrath on that account, but rather it mostly seemed they did not care. Many of these boys were essentially prisoners. They had no place to judge anyone, and Jaime was a steward.

 

A steward and a prisoner himself. Banished here because the Queen had agreed at his brother's behest to allow him to live out his days on the wall. He should have let her execute him as she had wanted, as she had done to his father and his sister, but at the time Brienne still lived and he was desperate to devise a way of being with her again, which would be quite difficult were he killed. The plan afforded him a stay while he and Tyrion might arrive at another alternative.

 

Then word came from Lord Tarth. The ship on which Brienne had traveled succumbed to the stormy conditions of Shipbreaker Bay. She had wanted so badly to go home once more but never even made it to shore. Neither she nor the crew aboard survived. The ship had sunk into the bay.

 

At that news, Jaime no longer cared to renegotiate his sentence and left for Castle Black. Now he would merely abide his time, even if it did mean submitting to the leadership of Jon Snow. Suicide wasn't an option. Not only would he not have that be his legacy, but on the chance there was an afterlife in which he might be blessed meet up again with Brienne, Jaime was certain he'd receive a tongue lashing from her for giving up without honor.

 

Perhaps winter would kill him.

 

“No straws, this dwarf needs to learn his place.”

 

Not mentioning the fact that Gemment stood nearly a foot taller than the younger boy and carried probably fifty pounds more muscle, it was obvious who would win this battle. Gemment was the strongest and possibly one of the most skilled fighters in the Night's Watch currently. He'd been there nearly ten years and for five of those Jaime had taught him the skills he'd acquired since losing his hand. Jaime only hoped he wouldn't have to intervene. He didn't think he could abide a disciplinary discourse from Jon Snow without compromising the unobstructed existence he'd managed to establish there.

 

“Come on, _Cunty,,_ show us what you're made of,” Gemment cajoled the boy and the rest of the group followed suit, cheering on the challenge.

 

“It's _Kenton,”_ he corrected, “and I'm made of steel and cock and balls. And I'll fight the whole lot of you and you'll be collapsed in a pile in the snow until the bears come have you for supper.”

 

Jaime sniffed at the horrible posing. _This_ _ought to_ _be entertaining, at the very least._

 

Kenton's first several motions were impressive from the outset, though it was hard to determine whether Gemment was intending to lull the other boy into complacency (a skill Jaime had taught him). They circled around another several passes and their audience called out for someone to make a move. Gemment struck low, near Kenton's legs.

 

Jaime cringed. _Not the boy's legs..._

 

But to everyone's surprise, Kenton caught the move and countered every bit as quickly with a high motion, setting into play a quicker paced match. Kenton was spry and quick, seeming to be several motions ahead of Gemment, who was quickly becoming breathless. But not so winded that he wasn't able to propel Kenton backward with a strong shove.

 

Kenton ran in reverse four or five steps and it seemed clear he was going to fall onto his backside. Just as Gemment was closing the space between them, preparing to force Kenton to the ground to yield, the boy regained his balance and raised his sword up. Gemment met the move and Kenton kicked him in the shin, hard. His giant opponent lost his own balance and toppled backward, hitting his hand hard on the ground and losing grip of his weapon.

 

Kenton picked it up before there was a chance for Gemment to retrieve it and held both swords at his neck. Putting his foot on Gemment's rapidly rising and falling chest for good measure, he asked with a sly smile on his lips “Yield?”

 

“Get the fuck off me, ya smarmy little prick!”

 

Their audience roared with laughter as Gemment reached up to shove Kenton's leg away. Kenton offered his hand and Gemment scowled as he shoved that away as well. Kenton handed him his sword and he grabbed it with a growl.

 

_Best bit of entertainment in a long while._

 

Dinner was called and everyone scattered to the mess. Jaime called Kenton to come over to him. Kenton's proud smile immediately straightened.

 

“Yes, Ser?” He looked a little concerned Jaime might scold him.

 

“How old are you, boy?”

 

“Fifteen.”

 

“And what did you do to end up at the Nights Watch?”

“Do, ser? I traveled here.”

 

Jaime smirked. “Right. What transgression forced your travel?”

 

“None, ser. I came here of my own accord.”

 

_Fifteen...Why are boys allowed to make such decisions?_

 

“Well, isn't that noble of you.”

 

“My father died when I was very small and mother died a few months past. I asked a woman in my village if she would marry me, but she refused.”

 

Ah, for love's refusal. Jaime wondered if he was seeing a ghost of his past self.

 

“Well, that's very surprising. You're a handsome man and skilled fighter. I can't believe any young maid would refuse you.”

 

Kenton shrugged. “Turns out she weren't in as love with me as I was with her. And also, she weren't a young maid.”

 

Jaime knit his brow and turned his head quizzically. “Really...you prefer the company of crones, then...?

 

“She were a young widow. Ser, I beg pardon, but I'm very hungry, I don't wish to miss the meal.”

 

“So you're fifteen years old,” Jaime ignored him. “How does a boy from a small village with no father learn to fight with such skill?”

 

“The widow,” he answered with a smile, seemingly proud of the admission.

 

“The widow...? A woman?” Jaime matched the boy's sly smile. “Are we still speaking of swordfighting?”

 

“'Course!” Kenton laughed. 'She said her father were a knight and taught her. And she taught me. Though it always seemed to me she coulda been a knight herself.”

 

Jaime's heart began beating a little faster as he willed himself not to entertain the thought. This child was a mere fifteen years of age...Women can be widowed at any age....There could be other women who knew how to fight...

 

And she was currently laying at the bottom of the bay.

 

“I think maybe she refused on account of being so much taller than I am.” The boy looked longingly toward the mess hall. “May I be excused, ser?”

 

Jaime grabbed his arm. “No!” He was breathing as heavy and sweating as much as Kent had caused Gemment to be moments earlier. Kenton's smile was replaced with fear. Jaime let up on his grip and took a breath. He could feel himself shivering internally. “Please...what … what was her name?”

 

“Enna. Enna Lannis.”

 

****************

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_“One on the stack and then another on the stack_  
 _makes two on the stack..._  
 _Another on the stack makes three on the stack..._  
 _Three and another makes four....”_

Enna Lannis was chopping and splitting logs and handing them to the small boy who sang his counting song as he carried them to the woodpile outside the cabin's backdoor.

“So many!” the boy cheered after the tenth log.

“Yes. The gods have been very gracious to us.”

“Yes, the gods have been good to us,” the boy agreed mirthfully and heaved the log on top of the pile.

As Enna raised her ax to split the final log, she felt a tug on her cloak.

“Jem!” she gasped and lowered it as gingerly as she could far to the opposite side. “Have I not told you a hundredfold to stay clear of me when I raise the ax?” she scolded.

“I know, but...there is a man out there.”

His little hand was lifted and pointing out beyond the fence. She followed its line and spotted what he had seen. A figure in a dark cloak, alone, lumbering through the deep snow, headed in their direction.

“Inside,” she directed the boy.

“But,” he protested, “who is it?”

“Go...inside...now...and be quick about it!”

“Shall I retrieve my sword?”

“Go!” She raised her hand toward the door and glared at him in a way that made the boy scurry finally, though not without looking back every few steps at the man who continued his slow approach toward their home.

She picked up the ax and checked the door once more, ensuring he was safely inside. Then, unlatching the gate, pushed it through the snow and made her way toward the intruder.

“Who goes there?” she called out. The man grunted and she raised her ax over her shoulder. “Come no closer,” she warned.

The wind gusted fiercely, blowing the hood from off her head. The man cried as though in pain and dropped to his knees, both his hands sinking into the crusty snow with a loud crunching noise, halting him from falling onto his face.

“Me...” he whimpered cryptically. “S'me...Please...”

She took a few steps closer, ax still raised. The man raised his own arm and she froze in her movements and her thoughts as it became clear to her exactly who she was seeing.

“Brienne...” he croaked.

This time it was she who whimpered audibly and her entire body began to shiver and shake uncontrollably. She tossed the ax aside and fell to her own knees. Putting her hands on either side of his bearded face, she looked hard into his eyes. Seeing it was indeed Jaime, she cried out with a sound reminiscent of a wounded animal. Her mouth opened and closed several times following the howl, but she was unable to make more noise of any sort.

Jaime grabbed Brienne's left arm with his hand and pushed his right forearm against hers. They stared at one another for a long moment and when he became too blurry to her sight because of the welling tears, threw her arms around his neck, pressing her ear against his. She rubbed her cheek back and forth against his whiskers and felt him sob against her chest. Sympathetically, she responded in kind.

The two remained there for several more moments despite the waning daylight and the cold wet snow beneath them. Brienne attempted to catch her breath whilst listening to Jaime whisper her name again and again into her ear. She did not wish to move from this location, no matter how numb her legs were becoming, in case this was only a dream or vision that would disappear once she left his embrace. Though confessedly, this dream felt very different than any she'd had before. This time she could smell him, feel his breath on her skin and the warmth and strength of his body holding her impossibly close.

And Jem had seen him.

She forced herself to extricate herself from his grip, a task made more difficult when he bear down on his hold even more. “Come,” she bid him finally, her face tight with numbness and frozen tears. “Inside.” Jaime reluctantly released her.

The walk to the cabin seemed endless between navigating the snow with her numb, shaking legs and aiding Jaime's balance. When they finally reached the gate, she struggled to pull it shut as the wind picked up speed again and blasted past them, their cloaks billowing around them. Brienne winced from the bitter pain of it on her skin and she returned to Jaime just in time to catch him as he faltered.

By the time they'd made it to the cabin, Misa, the elderly woman who lived with Brienne and the boy, was holding the door open. Brienne guided Jaime up the stoop and into the main room, toward the fire.

Jaime stopped in his tracks and Brienne followed his gaze toward the boy sitting at the long wooden table in the middle of the room, who was humming and busily writing on a piece of parchment. He looked up from his work and observed their visitor. Looking to Brienne for guidance, she shook her head slowly, willing him to hold off on his greeting for the time being. Misa came to unburden both Brienne and Jaime of their damp cloaks before Brienne guided him to a chair beside the hearth, which was roaring with fire and cooking a stew.

His mouth remained tightly closed, yet his eyes were open wider than someone as weary as he was should be able to manage. Brienne watched his chest rise and fall rapidly, catching shallow breaths. She put her hand on his arm and he turned his gaze away from the boy and toward her. She handed him a cup filled with beer while she had his attention.

“Drink.” she commanded simply and he obliged, slowly at first, then shutting his eyes drank the entirety with a vigor which bordered on desperation. By the time he handed back the empty cup he seemed to have been able to slow and deepen his breathing.

The boy began singing to himself at the table and Jaime's head snapped back in that direction. Then he looked back at Brienne, who still knelt by his knee, an indescribable look in his eyes, fear mixed with confusion, all cutting through the weariness.

Brienne had no need for Jaime to verbalize his question, which he begged with the same look. She open and shut her eyes briefly and simply nodded once slowly. He swallowed and blinked quickly. Back and forth went his head, from Brienne to her son and back again.

There was so much to be said and yet they remained silent, the only sounds in the home emanating from the crackle of the fire and the boy's song. Behind Brienne, Misa set another kettle on the fire and poured a large pitcher of water into it and left to fill the pitcher again.

“Jem,” Brienne called to the boy, “would you please help Misa gather water for the kettle?”

He hopped down from his chair. “Of course, mother.” Grabbing another pitcher from the kitchen, he stole a glance at the stranger on his way.

A pained sigh escaped Jaime's mouth and Brienne felt him grab her hand tightly. She looked quickly back to him to make sure he was not about to faint. Instead she watched Jaime's eyes fixated on Jem's movements, blinking away tears of overwhelming emotion.

“I...” he uttered softly,''this is...unbelievable.”

Brienne could see in his face he immediately realized the ridiculous obviousness of his statement. “I hope you haven't forgotten the moment of this possibility,” she said low and quiet, a tiny smile curling the edges of her mouth.

She watched as Jaime's composure seemed to relax tenfold and he met her tiny smile with a familiar one that caused her cheeks to flush. His eyebrows raised. “I seem to recall more than a solitary moment.”

Her own shoulders released their tension to hear him speaking as she remembered him from before and she allowed her smile to widen. She looked away to avoid the mischievous look in his eyes. He ran his thumb back and forth over her hand and this time, she shivered from the warmth.

Once he had finished filling the kettle, Brienne invited Jem to approach her and Jaime. He came and stood next to the chair, between where Jaime sat and she continued to kneel. Jaime squeezed her hand even more tightly.

“Jem,” she began and felt her heart leap to her throat. She had not considered what she would say until this very instant.

Brienne was in this tiny northern village incognito. Nearly six years prior, she had changed her name and was hidden away to avoid embarrassment for herself and her father, and most importantly to keep safe the son of the Kingslayer. Were anyone to get word to the queen that her father's murderer had a son, there was every reason to believe she would want him executed, just as she had done to Jaime. Or so the world had been told.

But how could she tell her son the truth?

“Yes, mother?”

“Jem, I would like for you to meet our guest.”

Brienne tried to meet Jaime's gaze so she might apologize for the lie she was about to tell their son. She squeezed his hand instead, hoping that would suffice, for his eyes were fixated exclusively on Jem.

“This is...” she paused and took a breath, “this is our cousin...James.”

Jaime's head snapped back in Brienne's direction and she attempted with all her might to relay that apology with her eyes. His jaw set and eyebrows knit and Brienne felt panic inside.

“My name is James!” Jem declared, distracting the both of them from the angst.

Jaime looked back at Jem. “Jeremy James Lannis,” he announced with pride. “But you may call me Jem.”

“Gladly,” Jaime managed to say. “That's a fine name.”

“Will you be staying for supper, cousin?”

Jaime looked toward Brienne for the proper answer. “Yes, he will be staying with us for a time,” she informed him while looking directly at Jaime. Brienne was able to relax a little when she saw relief in his face. “Please gather some blankets and bring them to your room so he may have a place to sleep.”

“Pleased to meet you, cousin,” Jem said before departing them. “I've never known any other relatives besides mother.”

“The pleasure is completely mine.”

Jem scampered off to do his mother's bidding and she attempted to rise from the floor, partly because she needed to fill Jaime's bath, but mostly to avoid what chiding words Jaime might rightly have for her. Her attempt was thwarted, however when Jaime let go of her hand and grabbed her arm instead, just as she'd gotten to her feet.

Her heart pounded and a thousand thoughts and excuses danced through her head, all competing to be the one she might offer him. Instead she interrupted the warring thoughts, merely saying, “ I'm going to help Misa prepare a bath for you.”

“Yes, I know, I only... Brienne...” His tone was only pleading and she braved looking at him again. “He is beautiful.”

Brienne nodded and swallowed a lump in her throat. They were the words she had wished he'd been alive to say to her when Jem was born.


	3. Chapter 3

The now four inhabitants of the cabin sat around the large wooden table ready to enjoy the evening meal, Jem still at the table's head, Brienne to his left and Jaime to his right. At Misa's bidding, they joined hands for prayer. Misa, being on Jaime's right side, had laid her hand over the end of his arm, but she did not seem shocked or even bothered by the missing member. Jaime wondered if it was because she knew of precisely who he actually was. That he wasn't just a cousin but the boy's father, Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. Surely Brienne had informed her, for the quiet, stout woman of about his father's age (or older, even) seemed completely indifferent to his presence, almost expectant of it.

Jaime, who wasn't prone to this sort of intimate communication with the gods was suddenly fascinated with the ritual as he listened to Jem recite with innocent joy the words of thanksgiving for their meal. He willed away the wave of emotion that threatened to form tears once again. Jem was a beautiful boy, as he had told Brienne. Bright eyes and golden hair and a constant smile on his lips. He was tall, of course, for a boy of his age and full, rosy-colored cheeks showed that he was in good health.  Jaime added a silent prayer of his own in thanks for it, for everything that had led up to this moment.

The prayer ended, Jaime reached over his bowl for the spoon on his right.

“Where is your hand, cousin?” Jem asked.

Jaime felt a wave of disappointment overtake him, but not for his lack of a hand.

“Jeremy!” Brienne exclaimed. “That is a horribly rude question!”

Jaime shook his head and waved his hand slightly. “No, no, no, it's a perfectly reasonable question.” He put his elbow on the table, raising his forearm, inviting Jem to investigate it.

He addressed him directly, saying simply, “Someone took it.”

He knit his brow. “Took it?”

Jaime nodded. “He did not like me very much.”

“Why not? I like you.”

His insides crumbled once again. _Why, indeed._ He looked to Brienne and he saw she was a bit distraught anticipating how he might explain what happened to him. He filled his belly with air so that his voice might not falter. “Because he was a bitter little troll.”

He leaned in closer to Jem's face and winked. Jem giggled and Jaime felt a wave a pleasure overcome him at the sound. “A _real_ troll?” he asked.

“Just about,” Jaime answered and took a bite of the stew. Somehow even as famished as he was, he had felt far more nourished at the boy's laugh than from from the food.

“The trolls live in the Wolfswood,” Jem announced.

“Do they now?” Jaime responded with interest. “Have you seen them?”

“Well of course I have not. They only come out at night while children sleep.”

“Of course,” he agreed, smiling at Brienne as he spoke.

“Of course.” Brienne echoed quietly and returned his gaze with a small smile.

Jaime thought she'd never seemed more beautiful. Her hair was much longer than the last time he had seen her, hanging well past her shoulders now, which, while strange to his memory of her, was pleasing to him. She looked to be in excellent health as well, not a moment older than he remembered her, while he on the other hand, felt as though he'd aged well past Misa. He ached to touch her at this moment, to kiss her, to just hold her indefinitely...

“What I really want to see are the dragons.”

He was jolted from his reverie. “The dragons, really,” Jaime acknowledged him, trying to not let any horror at the thought effect the look on his face. He had been there when Danaerys' dragons unleashed their terror on King's Landing, their fire taking the lives of many of the people, most notably his sister, his father, and Tommen. It was only by chance he was not also taken.

“I've seen them,” Jaime confessed vaguely.

Jem's face brightened impossibly more. “You've seen them? I want to see them, to see them flying. I hear that they're as big as this house. That is so big, how can they be that big and still can fly?”

“They are quite big. You're not afraid of them, of their fire?”

He shrugged. “What color are they?”

“Many different colors. One is red and blue-”

“Did you ride one?” Jem interrupted, his excitement overcoming him, which was also clearly abating his appetite.

“Jem, don't let your supper go to waste,” Brienne interjected gently, “Please eat.”

The boy obeyed, shoveling in a bite almost too big for his small mouth. A bit of gravy dripped from his chin. Without a thought, Jaime reached out with his thumb and wiped it clean and Jem tolerated it without word or motion.

“No, I did not ride one,” he answered. “The truth is is they are not very friendly.”

Jem tilted his head, his eyes squinting skeptically.

“They only love their mother,” Jaime told him.

He straightened up, but said with a mouth full of stew, “The queen?”

“Yes, the queen.”

“Perhaps the queen would tell them that I'm a very nice boy and they would permit it. I just want to see them.”

As terrifying the thought was, Jaime immediately wanted to give that to him. Wanted to give him everything, even though he had nothing at all anymore. He could still barely believe what he was seeing. That this child, this child of _his,_ had been born five years prior to this, existing, growing into a talking, thinking, dreaming living being, all while he convalesced on the wall, dead to the world, completely unaware. It was almost easier to believe in Jem's trolls of the woods.

“Perhaps,” he laughed lightly. “Finish your supper,” he bid him, realizing only after he had said it the parental nature of his command. He looked to Brienne who obviously realized the same thing and he felt strange. He _was_ a stranger at the moment, a ghost permitted to gaze on the living but unable to fully participate with them. Even though this was clearly his son, he knew he had no appropriate place here at this moment.

Imaginings of this reunion had fueled his journey from the wall to Brienne, but they never had truly taken into account the passage of time, and of course never could even give a thought to Jem's existence. As thrilling as it was to learn of him, to see him, touch him, it was far from as simple as his fantasies had been.

He wrestled with the desire to spend all night listening to Jem chatter on about faeries and dragons and whatever else he wished, and yearning to be alone with Brienne. He knew he could listen to the boy until dawn.  It reminded Jaime of himself, before his mother passed, before his father put a stop to his 'nonsensical babbling.' Neither had Cersei allowed it of her children. Of course at the time he agreed that his father and Cersei were probably correct, but now...how could any parent only revel in it? It was sweeter than any song that Jaime had ever heard. He learned from Jem that they made money selling wool from their lamb, which he helped to shear, that his favorite food was cake, his favorite color red, that he climbed the woodpile last year and received a bad splinter in his hand.

Brienne managed to get a few words in to remind him to eat and he finally managed to finish his bowl long after ever everyone else had. Jaime soaked it all in desperately like rays from this winter's ungenerous sun.

“Time to clean you up for bed, child,” Misa announced and Jaime felt a twinge of disappointment, which he apparently shared with Jem, who took a breath to protest this injustice.

Brienne raised one finger at him, halting his complaint. “We have had this discussion, many times, my little Jem.” She placed a kiss on the top of his head and helped him down from his seat.

Jem blew out the air he had gathered as she spoke her reminder, looking at Jaime as though perhaps he feared if he went to sleep, Jaime would disappear.

“Go on,” Jaime encouraged him, “Perhaps you'll dream of dragons.”

Jem's eyes widened and he nodded his head with great exuberance. “I do!” he revealed.

“Well then that's something to look forward to, isn't it?”

He watched the boy place his little hand into his mother's as she led him to his room and momentarily felt the same fear he had imagined Jem having, that they might go in there and not return. That he still might wake up, perhaps from a fevered dream, on his cot at Castle Black. Or perhaps this time he was actually dead. He selfishly willed Brienne to return quickly.

Misa rose and cleared the table and he remained seated. He noticed the parchment Jem must have been writing upon earlier and reached to bring it closer to him and the light. On it were several drawings of dragons, very good drawings he noted, for someone of Jem's age. Naturally they were far less ominous looking than the actual animals he'd seen at King's Landing. Off to the side of the page were the letters “J-E-M” spelled out in large letters, with the both the 'J' and the 'E' reversed as though being viewed in a mirror.

Brienne did indeed return quickly and relieved Misa of her tasks. The old woman disappeared behind her own door and left the couple alone together finally.

“Did you get enough to eat?” was the first thing she said to him.

“More than enough. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

She emptied the remainder of the pitcher of beer into their cups, then sat down next to him at the head of the table, where Jem had earlier sat. She took a sip and stared at her cup. Neither of them knew what to say. Even thanking her for dinner seemed a subordinate action.

“I suppose you must be exhausted,” she finally spoke.

“I am. But I fear I won't be able to sleep right now if I tried.”

“How in the name of the seven did you know where to find me?”

“I met a good friend of yours on the wall.”

She knit her brow. “The wall...? You've been at the wall all this time? Do you know that the entire world believes you are dead? That the queen executed you and your entire family?”

“It's only partially true...obviously,” he explained, taking a sip from the pewter cup. "Tyrion lives, serving on her council, ironically enough. He convinced her to let me live out my days at Castle Black. I've been there five years. That is, until a new recruit came and told me a story about his tall, female swords play instructor."

“Kenton...”

“Yes, Kenton, your betrothed, I believe.”

“He was not!”

“I don't know, to hear him tell it, it sounds as though you two were quite close.”

“We were not! Not like that. I instructed him and he assisted us around the cabin.”

“I'm sure he did.”

“He's an infant. He wanted so badly to prove his worth as a man.”

“By proposing.”

“By becoming man of this household.”

Jaime marveled at the rage that had begun to build inside him. This vein of questioning was ridiculous and superfluous - he knew this, and yet he allowed it to continue.

“And did he prove his worth as a man to you?”

Brienne sat back against the chair, increasing the space between them. His heart was pounding. What sort of right did she have to be indignant? She was lying to his son, would she lie to him as well?

“I told him I could not reciprocate his feelings and he said it mattered not to him, that it would be an honor to care for me and Jem.”

“How very noble of him...”

“Jaime, did you come all this way to accuse me of-”

“You told him I'm your _cousin!_ I am _not_ your cousin.” He pointed at Jem's bedroom. “ I am that boy's _father_!”

He watched a tear escape from Brienne's eye and he was every bit as shocked by the anger he heard brought forth from his own mouth. He had not honestly intended it. But he was travel-weary and caught in a tempest of emotions, flailing, crying out for help.

“I'm sorry, Brienne. I'm sorry.”

Brienne remained quiet.

Surely she had done everything she was able to do given her situation. She was the one who had sacrificed herself for that sweet boy. She had obviously been a marvelous mother to him. She had every right to do whatever she had felt was necessary.

After it seemed she had regained her composure and was certain he would not shout at her again, she told him, quietly and calmly, “He slept in my bed with me for the first year of his life. Jem on one side and my sword on the other. I lived in terror that the Queensguard would show up on my doorstep and take him from me. I-”

He grabbed her arm once again to keep her from continuing. “Thank you.” He moved his hand and took hers in his. “Thank you for doing all you could to keep him healthy and to keep him safe.” He watched as another tear ran down her face. “I am so sorry that I could not be here, so very sorry. “

“I know,” she whispered.

“But I am here now.” He stared at her intensely, trying to determine if she accepted his sincerity.

“What happens once it's discovered you've left your post?”

“Let's hope your young friend will remain loyal to you. But otherwise, I don't know how they would find me.”

She nodded, though he could see she was unconvinced. The reality was he had compromised the safe-hold Brienne had carefully constructed.

“He doesn't have to know my name,” he conceded in desperation. He only needed it to be that Jem know he is his father.

“I need a night's rest. Jem will be up before dawn.”She pulled her hand back from him and rose from the table. Immediately he felt colder as she removed herself from his vicinity. “There is a cot in Jem's room for you to sleep on.”

Jaime rose from the table as well and entertained the thought of pulling her into his arms, but it seemed inappropriate now. Instead he watched her until she was behind her door and then retreated to Jem's room. He stirred the fire in there and by the renewed light watched the boy sleep, splayed out with open arms, a foot hanging off the side. He snored peacefully.

He'd had three children who could never truly be his and now this boy did not know him either. He would not live another lie.


	4. Chapter 4

The cock crowed and Brienne realized she had indeed fallen asleep at some point in the night, though for not nearly long enough. Her heart and her mind raced from the moment she lay down her head, and she must have turned over a thousand times before allowing herself to weep away her pent up emotion.

All she had dreamed of from the moment she left King's Landing was for him to return to her, even after it had become impossible. She often found herself praying for it anyway. Now she had been granted her petition and she had idea how to receive it. Of course she had never prepared for it. How could she, since she was asking for an impossible miracle? She did not truly believe it would ever happen. In her dreams, though, it was all so simple. He would return and they would resume their life as a family without a thought.

She thought several times throughout the night that perhaps she should just go to him, hold him, kiss him, but she knew they were both too exhausted to address the complex nature of this 'blessing.' Surely he was disappointed and she was as well. There was so much that needed to be unraveled, a veil she had woven in order to keep Jem from the knowledge of the Queen, or anyone else who might desire to seek revenge on Jaime. Even if he could even begin to understand what it meant, Jem had no idea he was the son of a nobleman; the heir to Casterly Rock, the knight who had murdered his queen's father.

The lesson was hard and the shame of having a child outside of marriage was revisited upon her. She had felt no shame for the love she held and had shared with Jaime, nor shame for its result, but for the relationships she was hurting. First it was her father. He was not ashamed or disappointed in what others might view as a 'wrongdoing.' He was only disappointed that it required she be kept from him and from her home. He did visit them one time, to be present for Jem's naming day, which happened with only the four of them present. There was no visit to a sept, no blessing from a septon, only Misa who, while formerly a septa, did not make the event fully sanctioned. Lord Tarth required Misa to call Jem by his actual name of Lannister. He promised to return again, but died a year later, quietly in his sleep, Brienne was told. She wept for days and Jem spoke his first sentence to her. “Mummy please be happy.” She saw Jaime's face in his at that moment and the disappointment returned a second time. 

Now with Jaime here, she had done it yet again. She could tell he did not quite accept her excuses last night. She knew he wanted to come in and assume his rightful place, her lies and discomfort be damned. It must have been a dagger to Jaime's heart every time he heard 'cousin' from his son's mouth.

Jem had obviously roused Jaime early first thing and had him out in the chicken coop, gathering eggs for breakfast. “Mummy, we got _three_ green ones today!” He announced proudly.

Jaime followed behind the boy who carried the basket, running toward the table, then clumsily setting it on the edge. Jaime lunged toward the basket, saving the eggs.

“Jem!” Brienne yelled as he flew passed her. “Where are you going?”

“I think he's getting his sword,” Jaime postulated.

“You've been here twelve hours...”

He smiled. “And already I've saved breakfast. What act of heroism will come next?”

Brienne smiled and shook her head. Perhaps it could be simple to have him their lives. She was certainly pleased to have him there and thrilled that Jem was enjoying his company.

Jem reemerged from his room, still running and holding the sword above his head.

“Jem! We do not _run_ in the house with that. Now, how do we hold it properly?”

The boy stopped in his tracks as he recalled his training. He moved it down so the tip of the wooden sword pointed toward the ground. Jaime approached him and knelt beside him. Jem picked up the sword and held the blade gingerly in his hand, just as carefully as if it were a real weapon.

“Oh that's a beauty,” Jaime praised it, running his hand over its length. “What did you name it?”

Jem cocked his head. “Name it?”

“Well yes, a sword has to have a name. We'll have to think of one, won't we?”

Jem nodded. “See here, J – L. My monger.” He pointed to the letters, running his fingers over the overlapping letters burnt into the wood.

“Monogram,” Brienne corrected.

“Mon-gram,” he attempted again. “Let's go out and I can show you what mother's taught me.”

“Breakfast will be ready momentarily, Jem. There will be plenty of time after your reading.”

“Well yes, except cousin James is here so he can help me practice whilst you are working and later maybe we can do reading.”

Brienne tried not to smile too big at the sweet earnestness of his argument, technically a disrespect of her authority. Oftentimes it was impossible to refuse him, let alone discipline him.

Jaime came to her rescue. “How about we enjoy our breakfast and do our chores first, and if you can do it without complaint, we'll practice with your sword. Then after, we'll do your lesson together.” He looked to Brienne for her approval with an expression every bit as charming as his son's and she nodded, for what power did she have remaining in this situation? 

“Set the table. Eat your meal and you may go out after.” 

“Yes, mum!” Jem nodded enthusiastically and put his sword on the table and went about his assignment.

It was yet again challenging to get Jem focused on his food, even with the promise made to him, or perhaps because of it. Though admittedly for Brienne, it was a joy to listen to him talk with Jaime. With his _father_. If she allowed herself to think too deeply about it, she would feel her emotions well up from within her. She took a drink and directed her attention to the story Jem was telling about the performer who had come to the village.

“He stood on stilts, so he was taller even than _mother._ ”

“Boy, that _would_ be tall,” Jaime said, grabbing a piece of bread and winking at Brienne.

“He juggled dragon eggs except mummy said they weren't _real_ dragon eggs, just make-believe and then he bent _all_ the way over and pulled a coin from my _ear!_ He gave it to me. It isn't real money, but it has a picture of a rabbit on one side and a fox on the other side and I could show it to you. It's in my room. I'll go get it.”

“Later, boy,” Jaime said grabbing his little arm to keep him from leaving his seat. “Eat.”

Jem sighed deeply and took up his spoon, stuffing his mouth with eggs and bread as fast as he could manage.

The brief, but intense, conversation she'd had with Jaime the night before still weighed on her, but Jaime looked far more rested than she felt. The bath, shave, food, and rest had erased a few years from his face overnight. His smiled was wide and he laughed freely, openly, his eyes every bit as sparkling as she remembered from the time before. She longed to touch him again, to be close to him, impossibly close, close as they had that one and only night they were to share together before she was whisked away. Gods, she missed him so, and he sat in front of her right now.

“Mother, I've finished all my breakfast, may we go out to practice now?”

“Are you sure you've had enough to eat?” Jaime asked him. “I'm sure there will be no more to eat until much later.”

“Yes, I am very full.” Jem made a motion to indicate just how filled his belly was. “Please mother, I want to show cousin James the straw man.”

Truthfully speaking, Brienne was a little relieved that Jaime would be forced away from her company. Not that there could be any more explicit discussion with Jem present, but it afforded her a momentary reprieve. She nodded at Jem and like a dog freed from its chain, he tore from the chair to retrieve his little sword. 

“Jem...”

Jaime was able to grab him by the collar before he could pick up speed. “You only run with a sword in hand if you are charging your enemy,” he instructed. 

“Yes, Ser.” 

“Go on, have fun,” Brienne told them. “Be mindful of your hands and feet getting too cold.”

Brienne set to clearing the table and beginning the morning chores, but was distracted by the movements outside the window. Jem was showing off the things she had taught him, slowly counting off the steps, though moving perhaps better than she had seen him do in their lessons together. 

Jem paused and watched Jaime model some moves. Jem then switched his sword to his own left hand and repeated it, moving every bit as well as he had right-handed. Jaime's eyes widened and he yelped a cry of praise at the boy.

Of course Brienne was well aware of Jem's propensity to use his left hand for things such as eating and writing. Misa did not feel this was proper and had thus been trying to encourage him to use the 'correct' hand. Brienne however would not discourage him, being rather amazed as he would switch from his right to his left hand when he wrote or drew pictures.

Jaime took Brienne's practice sword in his own left hand and began to spar with Jem. Gently, methodically, but not without an occasional quick movement to throw Jem off a little so that he would have a challenge to practice overcoming. The boy naturally rose to the task.

“You lied to your son,” Misa's quiet voice broke through her diversion.

Brienne sighed, annoyed. “Yes, of course I _know_ that. What would you have had me tell him? That this stranger is your father, who is back from the dead?”

“'Tis the truth. Lies only beget more lies, dearest. It is their food.”

“At the right time,” Brienne assured her, never taking her eyes off the pair in the yard, “I will tell him.” Misa's disapproval remained hanging in the air.

Jaime looked at the window and spotted her spying. He smiled and winked at her. He put his hand on Jem's arm and knelt down to speak to him. Whatever he said to him, Jem once again, emphatically agreed and led Jaime back into the house.

Bounding into the house still with the energy of a puppy, it was Jaime who called to correct him this time, before Brienne ever had a chance to open her mouth. “Jem...”

The boy froze in his tracks and turned to face him. “Well I just need to put away my sword now as I am supposed to do.”

“Yes but how are we to do so?” Jaime quizzed him.

“Walking carefully...” 

“That's my boy.”

Brienne's heart skipped a beat and her head snapped in Jaime's direction. Is this what he had told him? However when she saw his face, it seemed he was every bit as horrified at what had come out of mouth.

“A good boy. You're a good boy, Jem,” he corrected himself gracelessly.

Jem paid no mind to the error, only smiled impossibly bigger and did as he had been encouraged, walking carefully to his room, leaving Brienne completely alone with Jaime once again. She idly straightened the kitchen area, keeping busy so as to avoid his gaze and discourage him from speaking to her. But when Jem did not immediately return, she was forced to fill the space.

“I do not know what takes him so long to do things sometimes. He'll go in and forget what his original purpose was in there.” She heard Jaime chuckle, but she did not look at him, rather concentrated on wiping the already cleaned counter. “Oftentimes I've gone in there to look for him and he'll have fallen asleep. Of course, when I bid him to sleep, he refuses.”

She felt him close the space between them a bit and she felt obligated to look at him then. Jaime's smile was every bit as big as Jem's had been, though enhanced by water glistening in his eyes. “I was the same way. Full of energy, easily distracted, non-stop talking, fanciful dreaming...”

“That is the way you _were?_ ”

“Well, perhaps the energy has waned a bit.”

“So you're convinced he is indeed your son, then?”

She had only meant it in jest, but Jaime's smile disappeared instantly. “ I never thought there was any doubt.” He took another step so that he was standing very close to her now. The tone in his voice set her heart racing, but what he said next took her by surprise. “Brienne, forgive me for making those horrible insinuations last night. I was-”

She put her hand up and shook her head. “Jaime, there is no need.”

He filled the last few inches separating them, coming too close for her comfort. She could feel the heat of his body, causing her to become excessively warm everywhere. She took in his familiar scent - that comforting smell that she had not realized she had missed so desperately - and drank it in.

“I want to know _everything,_ ” he told her. “Everything I've missed.” She assumed at first he was speaking about Jem, but when he put his hand in her hair, gently grabbing its length and running his fingers through it, she knew he meant something more. “It's so long,” he said.

“It was your doing,” she told him, matching his low pitch. He raised his eyebrows at her. “When I became with child, it grew so quickly, nearly overnight. It was simpler to let it be.” Her voice faltered as he continued to touch and feel it, sending shivers from her scalp and over her shoulders. 

“It suits you,” he said, admiring it. “I painfully regret not seeing you with child. I am sure you must have glowed like the full moon on a clear night.” He moved his eyes to hers and her breathing quickened at the intensity of his stare – looking as though he were searching through her eyes for the image he longed to see. 

“I was swollen head to toe, not merely my belly,” she said with the intention of being self-deprecating, but Jaime's chest rose quickly at the thought.

“Was there a lot of pain?” he asked, a tinge of guilt in the inquiry.

Brienne could honestly no longer remember. “It was an easy delivery,” she recalled for him, “I prepared myself to suffer for days, but Jem arrived inside of an hour. When Misa told me he was out, I did not believe her.”

Jaime laughed. “So he was always in hurry, even from the beginning.”

Brienne nodded. “The real pain came after. He looked _so much_ like you when he was born that I wept every time I looked at him. I wept for days afterward, really. Misa assured me it was completely natural, but I knew it wasn't just mother's sorrow, it was the pain of missing you.”

Jaime took a deep breath. “You at least had him as comfort.”

“Yes, thank the gods.”

“I would have done anything, given anything to have been there.”

Brienne pulled her lips inward. “I know.”

“Oh Brienne, how I have missed you so.” He whispered passionately, moving his hand to her neck and running his thumb along her jaw.

She realized he was preparing to kiss her and her stomach twisted inside her. She wasn't ready, and yet she wanted it more than anything. Only not here, not in this moment. And if he were to kiss her, would he require more of her? Would she want more?

“I _found_ it!” came the little loud voice. Brienne didn't know if she should be upset or relieved at the interruption.

Jaime quickly took his hand away and hid it behind his back. He met the boy around the other side of the table to see what he was holding high above his head. 

“Oh so you have!” Jaime pulled out a chair to sit in and took the wood coin from Jem to study with sincere interest.

She had to tell him. She would.

“Jem, you need to attend to your reading,” Brienne directed.

“Cousin, will you read with me now?”

“Of course. How about we sit by the fire for better light. Go fetch your book.”

Brienne knew what would come next, as it was the same position in which the two of them would often read together. Jaime sat in a chair and Jem handed him the leather bound volume, then proceeded to climb into his lap in the same chair. He welcomed it, naturally, and stole a glance at Brienne as Jem was getting comfortable. She wondered if she was asking his permission yet again, so she returned his look with a small smile. Jem reached for the book and Jaime wrapped both his arms around the boy's waist, settling his cheek against Jem's head.

Brienne had to force herself to cease watching them. She removed herself from the room, joining Misa outside who was preparing to slaughter one of their lambs for the week's meals.

++++

Later, supper ended, the new family played _Dragon's Squares_ at Jem's behest, and as a result of Jaime's presence, was able to coerce them all into several more rounds of play than was their usual custom. Afterward, he played some more with Jaime alone.

Before Brienne could suggest it was time to retire, Jem piped in to afford himself an extension of time. “Mummy, cousin James has shown me how I can read a little faster. May I show you how much better I am?”

She smiled gently. Jaime's eyes looked every bit as hopeful that she would allow it. “Of course, I am very interested.” It was not like Jem to ask to read aloud himself. She knew she should take advantage of his enthusiasm whilst it might last.

He indeed seem to have picked up his tempo a bit with it and when Brienne stopped him to ask questions about what he had just read, he answered them with ease. 

He read on until yawns and itching eyes began to overtake him. He tried with his strong will to stave off sleep, but eventually his eyelids betrayed him. Brienne rose, intending to carry him off to bed, but Jaime got up and held her back. 

“Let him be a moment. Please?” He pulled the book gently from the sleeping boy's little hands and covered him with a blanket. Then, sitting on the floor in front of the chair, tugged gently on Brienne's hand. “Join me.”

She sat on the rug with him, their shoulders pressing into one another's.

“I suppose this is an activity of which you've long grown bored, hmm?” 

She shrugged a little. She did enjoy watching him sleep still, but she had outgrown the long sessions of doing so.

“Was he a good baby?”

She laughed quietly. “Depends on how you define the word.”

He chuckled. “I must assume he was a noisy one.”

“He was quite demanding. Though easily quieted with a tete.”

“Ah, so he is definitely his father's son.”

Brienne smiled and tried to form an excuse or apology for letting another day pass without telling Jem what Jaime had wished, but he spoke before she could. “I trust your judgment, Brienne. I don't wish you to do anything which makes you feel unsafe, but I told you, I am here now. You don't have to tell him anything at all about me. I can renounce anything you like, be anyone you want.”

It wasn't that she didn't want to tell Jem the truth, in fact, she struggled because she wanted to tell him the entire truth, or nothing at all. 

“I told him his father was a warrior, a knight who died in battle.”

“That was not wholly untrue, if you think about it,” he assured her, “but how joyous it is that he _did_ return from battle?”

“And what happens when it comes time for you to leave?”

“What time would that be?”

“I do not know. But it is what I fear.”

“Brienne,” he craned his neck around so his face was in front of hers, forcing her to look at him. “I do not _want_ to leave.” He raised his hand toward Jem. “How could I possibly ever want to leave him? Even if you will not have me back, I don't have the will to abandon this – _my son._ ”

“This life is...it's difficult, Jaime. There are no servants, it is a lot of work, it is tiring.”

“Did you not hear me tell of where I have been all this time? I've grown just as accustomed to hardship as you have, I am certain. Anyway, any hardships can only seem like unending joy now that I've found the both of you, alive.”

The tears attempted to escape her eyes for the hundredth time. She closed her eyes, feeling the moisture run down her cheeks and her shoulders slumped, as though in defeat. Suddenly his arm was around her and she could feel him pulling her even more closely, so that she had no choice but to rest her head in the crook of his neck, just as Jem had earlier done.

“Did you know,” he asked after a few moments, “before you left?”

“It was not until I arrived in Tarth that it became obvious. Perhaps I had suspected it, but...”

“I should have gone with you,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

“Cersei would have killed the lot of us. You saved us.”

“Then your father sent word you had died anyhow.”

More lies she never imagined would ever return to haunt her. “He sent me away for our good, so that Jem might have a good life. He provided for us.”

“I should have been the one.”

“I wish I could be certain Kenton will keep quiet. I would feel so much better.”

“I considered killing him, but...I knew you would not like it.”

“If he is loyal to me, he may end up paying with his life regardless. But I'm happier knowing it was not at your direct hand.”

“He isn't going to figure out where I went just from our brief conversation.”

“No, but Jon Snow might.”

“Well maybe he is on the side of true love rather than revenge or honor.”

“And what of the Queen?”

“I do not know her thoughts on true love.”

Brienne ignored his jest. “She pardoned you, you who murdered her father before she had a chance to even know him, and now you've defied her. Should I not be afraid he will not hunt you and your son down?”

“I will not let any harm come to Jem,” he vowed gravely, “ but she isn't about to harm him.”

“She burned your entire family to death.”

“Her dragons did - and not everyone, I told you that. Look, he's an innocent child, of no threat to her or her position. She may be smug and self-satisfied, but she is nowhere near as mad as her father was. She prides herself on being a champion of the oppressed. Never stops bleating about it. I truly believe she would not harm him.”

Brienne took a deep breath and Jaime hugged her. “Do you wish to stay? Truly?”

“Yes. Please, Brienne. I want nothing else in this world. Before I came here...from the moment I heard you were dead, I died. You've given me...”

His voice trailed off and Brienne felt him sobbing.


End file.
